I Introduction chapter 1 paragraph 40 among 52 paragraphs
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“Don’t you think you would attract attention?” said
the Medical Man. “Our ancestors had no great tolerance for
anachronisms.”
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“One might get one’s Greek from the very lips of Homer and
Plato,” the Very Young Man thought.
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“In which case they would certainly plough you for the
Little-go. The German scholars have improved Greek so much.”
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“Then there is the future,” said the Very Young Man.
“Just think! One might invest all one’s money, leave it to
accumulate at interest, and hurry on ahead!”
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“Let’s see your experiment anyhow,” said the
Psychologist, “though it’s all humbug, you know.”
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The Time Traveller smiled round at us. Then, still smiling faintly, and
with his hands deep in his trousers pockets, he walked slowly out of the
room, and we heard his slippers shuffling down the long passage to his
laboratory.
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“Some sleight-of-hand trick or other,” said the Medical Man,
and Filby tried to tell us about a conjuror he had seen at Burslem, but before
he had finished his preface the Time Traveller came back, and Filby’s
anecdote collapsed.
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II The Machine
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The thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a glittering metallic
framework, scarcely larger than a small clock, and very delicately made.
There was ivory in it, and some transparent crystalline substance. And now
I must be explicit, for this that follows—unless his explanation is
to be accepted—is an absolutely unaccountable thing. He took one of
the small octagonal tables that were scattered about the room, and set it
in front of the fire, with two legs on the hearthrug. On this table he
placed the mechanism. Then he drew up a chair, and sat down. The only other
object on the table was a small shaded lamp, the bright light of which fell
upon the model. There were also perhaps a dozen candles about, two in brass
candlesticks upon the mantel and several in sconces, so that the room was
brilliantly illuminated. I sat in a low arm-chair nearest the fire, and I
drew this forward so as to be almost between the Time Traveller and the
fireplace. Filby sat behind him, looking over his shoulder. The Medical Man
and the Provincial Mayor watched him in profile from the right, the
Psychologist from the left. The Very Young Man stood behind the
Psychologist. We were all on the alert. It appears incredible to me that
any kind of trick, however subtly conceived and however adroitly done,
could have been played upon us under these conditions.
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“This little affair,” said the Time Traveller, resting his
elbows upon the table and pressing his hands together above the apparatus,
“is only a model. It is my plan for a machine to travel through time.
You will notice that it looks singularly askew, and that there is an odd
twinkling appearance about this bar, as though it was in some way
unreal.” He pointed to the part with his finger. “Also, here is
one little white lever, and here is another.”
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The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the thing.
“It’s beautifully made,” he said.
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“It took two years to make,” retorted the Time Traveller.
Then, when we had all imitated the action of the Medical Man, he said:
“Now I want you clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed
over, sends the machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses
the motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveller. Presently
I am going to press the lever, and off the machine will go. It will vanish,
pass into future Time, and disappear. Have a good look at the thing. Look
at the table too, and satisfy yourselves there is no trickery. I
don’t want to waste this model, and then be told I’m a
quack.”
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There was a minute’s pause perhaps. The Psychologist seemed about
to speak to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth his
finger towards the lever. “No,” he said suddenly. “Lend
me your hand.” And turning to the Psychologist, he took that
individual’s hand in his own and told him to put out his forefinger.
So that it was the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time
Machine on its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I am
absolutely certain there was no trickery. There was a breath of wind, and
the lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel was blown out, and
the little machine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was seen as a
ghost for a second perhaps, as an eddy of faintly glittering brass and
ivory; and it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp the table was
bare.
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